


one final look

by evawrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, I cried at least 7 times while writing this, Memories of the First War with Voldemort, Narcissa Black Malfoy-centric, Post-Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evawrites/pseuds/evawrites
Summary: “If you knew this would happen, would you do it again?” She tried to keep her voice cold, as cold and disinterested and disgusted as possible; as cold as this stone floor Rodolphus was lying on, all crooked, shivering, and distraught, like a caged animal waiting patiently for its death.Rodolphus was all of those things, by some stupid twist of fate, but Narcissa couldn’t possibly be that cold towards him, not when he needed warmth, support, and silent confirmation in the form of,“I still love you, I always will. You’re my best friend even after all you’ve done to others and to yourself.”
Relationships: Rodolphus Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	one final look

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Houseofmalfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houseofmalfoy/gifts).



> So, here I am. It was supposed to be 1k words at max, but my mind is just… ugh. Surprisingly, I loved this. And yeah, I've actually cried at least seven times while writing this. And you know how I finished it? I got drunk at 4:30 pm, then sobered up a bit, and then wrote like 3000 words. 
> 
> Am I tempted to make a sequel for it, which will be a Cissamione fic and basically Hermione helping Narcissa heal? Oh, yes, I am. 
> 
> Anyways, this is for you, Tessa. Thank you for sending this prompt, and for getting me out of the writer's block, and inspiring me, and breaking my heart a little from time to time, and just for being this _amazing_ person you are.

“If you knew this would happen, would you do it again?” She tried to keep her voice cold, as cold and disinterested and _disgusted_ as possible; as cold as this stone floor Rodolphus was lying on, all crooked, shivering, and distraught, like a caged animal waiting patiently for its death.

Rodolphus was all of those things, by some stupid twist of fate, but Narcissa couldn’t possibly be that cold towards him, not when he needed warmth, support, and silent confirmation in the form of, _“I still love you, I always will. You’re my best friend even after all you’ve done to others and to yourself.”_

Narcissa hadn’t said any of that. She had just pursed her lips in an attempt to prevent those words from escaping her lips and waited. She had been waiting for so long she started shivering herself, freezing wind from the North Sea not giving a damn about all the warming charms on her black traveling cloak.

Black. Everything was black. Her traveling cloak, her robes, her shoes, those leather gloves Bella would’ve absolutely loved—the only thing that stood out was platinum-blonde strands of her hair. She was thinking of making them black, too, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, although she wasn’t even a Malfoy anymore.

With Draco’s death, with Lucius’ death, she had no choice but to become a Black herself. Because every time she introduced herself, she would feel this gut-wrenching sob babbling in the back of her throat; she would remember the day of her wedding and the day of Draco’s birth. Then it would all come crashing down the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, where she couldn’t find her precious little boy in time, and Lucius had sacrificed his life to save hers.

Not that she needed any introduction after Harry Potter had stated her role in the Dark Lord’s defeat the next day after the Battle. And certainly not after Rita Skeeter had written that hideous article on her just two weeks before she visited Rodolphus for the first time. _A Black Clad in Black Will Never Get Her Loved Ones Back._

When Narcissa had first read the title, it was sing-songed by Bellatrix’s voice, the one that used to read her all tales possible about Morgana when she was seven, the one that used to comfort her after a particularly stressful day at Hogwarts when she had just turned eleven. It was the voice of her sister who had been full of love and _light_ , was bright and determined, one of the smartest and strongest witches of their generation. The one who had taught her Occlumency “just for the fun of it” and had never, ever used Legillimency on her, as she’d once promised. It was the voice of her sister from _before_ , before all the pressure and prejudice and _madness_ clouded her mind almost completely.

It was somewhat ironic, Narcissa thought. The first truthful article in Skeeter’s entire career just had to be about her. She hadn’t read past the title; it was enough for her to know what this annoying little bug had written about. Draco’s death, for sure, and then Lucius’, and then Bella’s, and the fact that Rabastan was executed just three weeks ago. There was one picture on the front page, and Narcissa thought she had spent hours on end looking at it critically as if searching for flaws. There weren’t any.

That picture was taken just a couple of minutes after Rabastan had gotten a Dementor’s kiss.

Narcissa was mourning, mourning the loss of her family, everyone she had once loved, everyone she will always love, even if some small part of her absolutely hated who this world, these wars turned them into. She was mourning, although many people in the Wizarding World thought she wasn’t allowed to just because her son, her husband, her sister, and her best friends were _the_ Death Eaters.

Her question for Rodolphus was born out of grief and desperation, out of _you’re the only one I have left_ , and _I don’t want to lose you too_ ; out of a mind-shattering _you’re getting executed tomorrow, won’t you say something to me, at least **anything**?_

Narcissa didn’t even know what exactly she was asking him about.

_If you knew this would happen, would you accept the Dark Mark? Would you torture Alice and Frank Longbottom to insanity with Bella, with Bastan? Would you let Him change you so much I almost couldn’t recognize you the day I finally got to see you again, after fourteen years of waiting? **Would you?**_

She didn’t know, and it looked like he didn’t know either.

Narcissa asked him again and again until she was screaming so loudly she could hear footsteps at a distance, hushed whispers of guards and her own voice echoing off the stone-cold walls of Rodolphus’ cell. Her voice was breaking, and tears were streaming down her face for the first time in months, for the first time since Draco’s and Lucius’ and Bella’s death.

He hadn’t answered, hadn’t said anything at all, hadn’t even _looked_ at her. Narcissa left because she knew for sure—if she had stayed even for a couple more seconds, she wouldn’t have been able to walk away.

* * *

They decided to make a show of his execution— _of his Dementor’s kiss,_ Narcissa corrected herself, because execution would be much more merciful than the fate they had prepared for Rodolphus. In other’s people opinion, he didn’t have any soul left, but Narcissa had _seen_ him, and she _knew_ him. She knew this part of him—the part she loved so much, the part she would always love—was still there, somewhere deep within.

It seemed like everyone was happy with the idea. Even people who were mourning their loved ones had small smiles plastered across their faces at the mere fought of Rodolphus being hurt, of his soul being erased once and for all.

Narcissa was _crashed_.

She wished she had enough power, enough money, and enough bravery to ask the Potter boy for mercy for Rodolphus. Because he saved her from the same fate, he had the power, so technically he could do it again, right? But she knew The Boy wouldn’t because she had never been as deep within the Dark Lord’s inner circle as Rodolphus was. Narcissa had never had His Mark etched on her skin, on her very being—because she _promised_ , she promised Rodolphus she would never do it.

“He’s all I have.” She wanted to come to the Potter boy and say exactly that because it was the painful truth she admitted for the first time in months. “My son is dead, my sister is dead, my husband is dead, I don’t have _anyone—_ ” She put a hand over her mouth to contain a gut-wrenching sob at the mere thought of everyone she loved and everyone who she couldn’t possibly have anymore.

Narcissa knew there was nothing she could do about this. She realized the only way to prevent this from happening was to go back in time and maybe run away with every person she loved, with every person who was now dead. She should’ve done it, Narcissa thought; they _all_ should have when Sirius offered it. She thought of the last day she saw him and how he caught her in Lestrange Manor’s garden. There was a girl with him, with dark-blonde, giant curls, tiny freckles all over her face, and in hideous clothes Narcissa had never seen before, even on Sirius. She thought the girl looked like an embodiment of the sun, of the _light_. She wasn’t a big fan of the light, never had been, but somehow, this self-assured, fearless smirk on the girl’s face made her smile in response.

Her smile had slipped the minute Sirius introduced her as Marlene McKinnon, the part of the Order; the minute the words left his lips. “We can get you out if you want, all of you—you, Rod, Bastan, Luciu—hell, even Bella.” His words were a hushed whisper, soft and gentle, but firm, as if he had known for sure he could actually do it. Sirius wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t sure, Narcissa had known it perfectly well. She wondered how bad the war would get when she registered Bella’s name leaving Sirius’s lips—he loathed the sister she loved so much, so there had to be something he had known would happen extremely soon. “Just say a word, and we’re gone before anyone knows it,” he said, grasping at her wrist somewhat desperately.

Narcissa closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down. She felt panic crippling at her whole being. And suddenly, everything she had seen was black, before flashes of images—memories—started evading her mind against her own will.

She remembered how Bella couldn’t complete one of His tasks and arrived home barely conscious and with blood _everywhere_. Narcissa thought it was the day Bellatrix started losing her mind completely, dwelling into complete and utter madness. She wasn’t surprised, not really—that’s what hours and hours on end with _Crucio Crucio CRUCIO_ could do to you. This torture would kill everyone else, but Bella—her stubborn, sweet, caring Bella—was too strong-willed for it to break her entirely. Still, with every curse thrown her older sister’s way, with every life Bellatrix had taken per His orders, Narcissa felt Bella slipping into the deep end until the person she cherished so much was barely recognizable.

She remembered the day Rodolphus got his Mark, how he cried, her strong, strong Rodolphus. How he was falling apart in her arms, with the rumblings of, “Please, Cissa, make it stop, make it stop,” because there was just _too much pain_ , and with a broken, “Now He will always know where I am, now He has just a right way to hurt me.”

Narcissa was pulling him into the tightest hug ever, whispering sweet nothings and the string of _everything is going to be okay, we will get through this_. And so many years after that day she knew her words were cruel, because she hadn’t even believed it herself, but she still said them, hoping the person who made her life better every day would be hurting a little less.

The pain from His Mark started fading away about four hours later, and they were still sitting on the floor in the hallway when Rodolphus pulled away and looked at her. Narcissa gasped immediately because that very moment she knew for sure—it wasn’t her Rodolphus anymore, not the way he used to be. His eyes were the darkest of brown, even darker than Bella’s, and they weren’t shining, not with light and love and _happiness_ that had always been there every time he had looked at her before. She had seen that look in his eyes only once, the day when Adrastia and Raoul were killed, and Rodolphus was destroying everything in his path out of pure, blinding rage. He had stopped only when one of the flying glasses and books and Merlin knows what almost hit her, and just like that, all energy he had had was gone. They had sat on the floor of Raoul’s study for what felt like hours, with Rabastan grasping at them both as if he was afraid he would lose them next. 

“Promise me,” he croaked, his voice barely audible, a strangled half-whisper and half-sob. “Promise you won’t… you won’t ever…Cissa, you can’t! I _never_ you want to feel that, that—” Rodolphus couldn’t find the right words for this pain and this utter despair, but she understood. Narcissa had never wanted to cry as much as she did now. She bit her lower lip to stop herself, but the next thing she knew was the taste of salt and iron on her tongue. Because it was unbearable—the way Rodolphus was hurting, the way his life was on the way to being destroyed by the man with a cause and probably too much power for one person. It was unbearable that he was still thinking about _her_ , about _her_ safety, as if it was the only thing that mattered to him.

Narcissa shook her head stubbornly, because what could she possibly say? It wasn’t fair; she knew this. It wasn’t fair to each and every last one of them—to Rod, Bella, Lucius, and Bastan, who all were in too deep to stop now. Because some part of her had known all along they would be a significant part of this impending war. Because how could they _not_ be, with all the expectations of their parents laid on their shoulders? Adrastia and Raoul were the only parents who loved their kids unconditionally, loved Narcissa as if she had been their own. They both were _good_ people, kind-hearted and supportive, who didn’t deserve to die, not like Narcissa’s mother or aunt or uncle.

So they all were doomed from the start, or at least from the day Lestranges were murdered, Narcissa thought, but what Rodolphus was asking of her right now—she knew it meant much more than she could possibly comprehend, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly it was.

Rodolphus saw her hesitating almost right away, because after nearly two decades of friendship and being _a family_ , he had known her all too well not to notice. “Cissa, promise me.” There was a shadow behind his eyes, and his voice was the firmest she had ever heard. “Keep the focus off of yourself no matter what, do you hear me? Don’t let Him think you’re valuable to his cause, just—just be Lucius’ wife and Bella’s sister and my best friend, Bastan’s best friend, but _nothing_ more.”

Narcissa wanted to protest right that instant because his words were hitting too hard. Rodolphus knew she had always wanted to be exactly more than someone to the people she loved. And Rodolphus saw it, so her hesitation. He gripped her shoulders, hard, making her wince in pain, but it got her attention enough for her to listen to him. “There’s absolutely nothing you can do to get rid of the mess Bella and I are in, but you can actually prevent yourself from—” He let out a shaky breath, and somehow, Narcissa realized there was something important he wasn’t telling her. “I don’t want you to experience even an ounce of what I did, of what Bella did. I won’t _let_ you. I want you to be safe, happy. I _need_ you to be, more than anything else in the world.”

Narcissa chuckled darkly, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Safe? _Happy_?” she asked, trying to keep herself from laughing hysterically. “How can I possibly be _any_ of this? How can I, when you are—when Bella is—” It was a _how can I possibly be happy when you’re suffering and breaking and disappearing right in front of my eyes_ she couldn’t bear to say out loud.

“Cissa, I’m fucking _begging_ you!” Rodolphus was screaming now, still gripping her shoulders so hard as if he had thought she might vanish from his arms any moment. And he was so, so broken, and Narcissa was so, so exhausted for any of this. Because every time the Dark Lord was taking a piece of Rod’s and Bella’s soul, it felt like he was cutting out the largest parts of her heart.

“I—I promise,” she forced out, lunching forward and throwing her arms around his neck. “You have to promise me something, too,” Narcissa said next, and Rodolphus replied that he would promise her anything in the world. “Promise me to stay alive.”

She didn’t know how long she had waited for the answer that never came.

Narcissa’s eyes shot open, and suddenly it wasn’t Rodolphus who was right in front of her. It was Sirius with his timid smile and the girl—Marlene—with something hopeful in her eyes. And this softness, the way they looked at her, made her question everything for a second. It made her _hope_. Maybe, maybe they all could get away and be safe and _happy,_ just like Rodolphus wanted her to be.

Reality hit her heard, and Narcissa scolded herself for even letting this tiny piece of hope crawl into her heart. Remembering all those things about why they _couldn’t_ just go away and start over in the middle of nowhere might have brought tears to her eyes if she was someone else. But she wasn’t. So Narcissa stood there with a stoic expression, her lips pursed, reciting all the _why-nots_ in her mind. They couldn’t just disappear, because Rodolphus had already had his Dark Mark, and she would never leave without him. Bella was days away from getting her own, and there was so little of the real her left. She would never, ever agree to leave her master. There was Rabastan, who was too young and innocent for all they had been going through, but somehow, the Dark Lord had already had his sights on him. And then, there was Lucius, who had been one of the most significant followers for the better part of the past year.

So, it all came down to this. Rodolphus couldn’t leave as well as Lucius because of their Dark Marks. The Dark Lord would find them in a split second, and then kill them all. Rabastan had been watched closely, and it seemed he couldn’t even take a breath without Him being notified about it. And Bella wasn’t even _Bella_ anymore; she was Bellatrix, on the way to becoming His most trusted and most loyal.

People she loved most in the world couldn’t leave, and that meant she couldn’t either.

So Narcissa hadn’t said anything to Sirius that day. She just left without another glance at her cousin. She felt his gaze linger on her back, and she felt Marlene’s eyes—so piercing, so intense—too.

A few days later, she had found an envelope in her room at the Manor. There was a coin of unknown origin, a coin she had never seen before, with the words **“If you ever need help, just let me know -MM”** scribbled on a piece of paper—actual paper, not parchment. She burned it right away, all the reasons why it was so dangerous to keep it flashing in the back of her mind.

In the end, it brought her here. Now, a small part of her wished not even for the Potter boy to show mercy to the only person she had left. For a moment, she wanted to go back in time and change her decision; to do something, _anything_ so they all could just go away with Sirius and Marlene and start something new, and be safe and happy and _together_.

Now, most of them were dead, and Bastan—this sweet boy with his dark curls who was more like a brother to her—didn’t even have his soul anymore.

Narcissa glanced at the large clock on the nearest building, which had been counting down hours and minutes and even seconds to the moment when Rodolphus would get his soul destroyed.

It had been a minute and a half left when they took Rod out of the nearest building, chained and ragged and so, _so_ small; a shell of the man she knew once and will always remember. Narcissa barely held back a gasp when her eyes landed on him. He wasn’t even looking at her, choosing to stare at the pavement instead. And it _hurt_. Merlin, it hurt so much that he was refusing to do it when all she wanted was to look him in the eye and actually see _him_. Suddenly, Narcissa regretted their last meeting deeply, because she _should_ have told him how much he meant to her, how much she loved him; that the things he had done, the things she hoped—suspected— _knew_ Rodolphus wished he could undo hadn’t changed anything. Because it was this kind of love they shared; unconditional, deep, and truly never-ending.

Narcissa blinked rapidly in a weak attempt to keep the tears from falling. Suddenly, the whole world was moving too fast, and Rodolphus was already standing on the scaffold. She kept looking at him, at his bowed head and longer hair, with a string of _please please please just look at me_ playing on repeat in her mind. And then, he actually did.

Shacklebolt listed a brief version of the crimes Rodolphus had committed as Death Eater and then asked a famous, “Do you have any last words?”

Their eyes met for the first time in months. Narcissa felt as if her throat was closing up all of a sudden. Because Rodolphus, her best friend in the whole world of more than three decades, _was_ there. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown than they had been in a long, long time, and there was something in here that had been missing for years. It was a small glint Rod would get every time she had come over, and he had tilted his head and asked, _“Wanna go see the horses?”._ It was a small glint he would get every time before lifting her off the ground in the middle of the garden, and then there was laughter and smiles, love, safety, and _happiness_.

Suddenly, it was all back, and it felt like her first time on the back of the horse. It felt like coming home—which was Lestrange Manor for as long as she could remember—and finding Rodolphus with tons of cookies, a wide, radiant smile plastered across his face.

Then, Narcissa saw something else in his eyes, something she longed to see. The question she asked him yesterday crawled back into her mind, in the depths of her heart, a silent plea in the form of whispered, _“If you knew this would happen, would you do it again?”_

Rodolphus looked at her with this glint and that _something_ in his eyes and said as loudly as he could, with all the confidence he could muster, “I would _never_.”

He looked at her, and he kept looking at her while this monstrous creature was sucking out his soul until there was absolutely nothing left. There was no glint in his eyes, nothing in his expression, and suddenly, he wasn’t even Rodolphus anymore—just a shell.

Narcissa let out a strangled sob, bringing her hand to her mouth to try and contain it, but it was too late.

She knew the next day there would be an article in the Prophet with her picture on the front page, with the picture of her crying. And Merlin, she was. Because losing Rodolphus felt like losing the last remaining piece of her whole world.

Narcissa wanted to be mad at him, wanted to hate him for the promise he had broken, for not staying alive _for her_. But suddenly she realized Rodolphus couldn’t have possibly broken a promise he had never made.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! My tumblr account is **evadwrites**.


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